The Victors
by Ramzes
Summary: Rhaegar came back victorious from the Trident and mounted the Iron Throne with Lyanna Stark at his side. But things turn out quite differently than what he envisioned when he sang her sweet songs of love, promise, and prophecies. My first attempt at AU in ASOIAF fandom. Rhaegar and Lyanna fans, beware!
1. At the Feast

_The Victors_

**At the Feast**

The Queen Dowager's face remained carefully neutral but Rhaegar could feel her disapproval. For first time since becoming a widow she was visiting a great banquet – she usually preferred dining with her long time attendants and little Daenerys whom she kept at her side, in her own chambers most of the time. It's been six years since he had defeated Robert Baratheon at the Trident but she still preferred the solitary life of a widowed queen and barely led any public life, spending much of her time at Dragonstone with Daenerys and Viserys. Still, she had agreed to attend the banquet tonight and Rhaegar could already feel her dismay. In truth, he shared it – the music was too loud, the meals in the wrong sequence, the wine not cold enough. And that was without even mentioning the decorum, or the lack thereof – it was as if the ladies were left to their own devices. Of course, they _were_.

He looked at his Queen. At his right, Lyanna was not looking at him, grim and stony silent. Sure, he knew that she had been anticipating trying the new horse he had presented her with a few days ago but the sudden arrival of the men from the Iron Bank had forced both of them to rearrange their plans and give them an audience – both of them because two of them had brought their wives along. Lyanna's free spirit had not taken this sudden press of rules – in reality, just another one in the long lines of such occasions – benignly.

Again, his eyes went to his mother. He had wanted so much to make it perfect for her, make her feel that the Red Keep was a better place now without his father's bouts of madness. Instead, she was faced with brash behavior, licentiousness, boring conversations, and bad wine. But then, what could he expect of Lyanna? She was not a lady and she did not care about conventions and norms. She never had – and that was exactly what had drawn him to her in the beginning. He had longed for something different, something more. He had found it – and he had paid for it dearly. The Seven Kingdoms had paid the price, too, with thousands dead because of Rhaegar's love.

Thousands… His mind took him back to that terrible day when he had come back victorious, only to learn that his father, at the peak of his insanity, now saw him as an immediate threat. Not the heir of the Iron Throne but a rival for it. _Let him be the King of ashes,_ Aerys had reputedly said. It was a fortunate occurrence that he had found his own death at the flames he had lit in the throne room before he could have the entire city burned down but the pyromancers had managed to take down some major buildings before the palace guards led by Jaime Lannister could stop them; the Maegor's Holdfast had not held. Nothing could have prepared Rhaegar for entering the city as a victor and seeing the flames rising from the Dragonpit as if the dragons had come back to life, bathing King's Landing in their hot breath; nothing could have prepared for the huge gates of the Red Keep being catapulted by the roaring fire to reveal the mouth of hell in front of his terrified eyes. And nothing could have had him prepared to hear that his wife and children, the younger one a babe he had only seen a couple of times, had died in the flames. He had seen Elia's body being prepared for the funeral. Half of her face had literally melted away. Aegon and Rhaenys looked untouched. Rhaegar prayed that the smoke had suffocated them, that they had not burned in the flames.

A man strode toward the dais. Rhaegar sighed. His Hand was quite troubled with the newest debt the Crown owed to House Lannister and at the same time, he insisted that imposing larger taxes would not resolve the issue. The Gold Cloaks needed their barracks repaired. The animosity between the Tyrrels and the Martells was raging anew…

Rhaella lifted a slim hand, beckoning the newcomer to her. Jon Arryn bowed. She smiled benignly. "I am overcome with joy to see you so well, my lord Hand," she said. "But you must know that official banquets are not the place to talk of politics – to talk of any work, indeed."

He started stammering a response; amused, Rhaegar saw how his face turned purple. Jon Arryn was a good man. Making him the King's Hand had been a good decision on Rhaegar's part but he was hardly the most tactful of people; still, he was mindful of good manners and was mortified that he had committed such a breach of etiquette.

Rhaella smiled and her purple eyes shone. She patted the table next to her. "Come on, my lord," she said and with a single look of hers, servants scrambled to bring an additional chair. "Tell me more of the Eyre. I have never been there but I've heard it's one of the most wonderful places in the world. Does one really need to be carried in a basket to reach the peak?"

Jon Arryn sat down, reluctantly. Lyanna leaned down against Rhaegar and said, "I think it's going beautifully, don't you think?"

"I do," he agreed.

"Tell me more of the new type of armour the blacksmiths are offering you," she went on and Rhaegar tried to suppress his irritation. He didn't mind Lyanna having her own interests, truly he didn't. But she had some duties that she didn't seem to realize she had to fulfill. Talking about new armours was fine but she was supposed to engage ladies in conversations focused on women things – and she didn't know how to do it and didn't seem to want to try. Wishing that she had gone to her ride instead of sitting here – there was nothing wrong with that but she should have taken care of organizing the banquet in the best way possible. Instead, they were having a commotion of singers, dwarves, performers who were not coordinated between themselves and Southern foods that did not match the wine – the _bad_ wine. Now, his mother and Elia had never taken care of the smallest details either but they had appointed people who were good at this. They had just needed to mention what they wanted done, in the most general of terms, for those people to get the idea and carry it out. He looked at his mother. Jon Arryn's stunted words had turned into smooth speech, his face alive. Rhaella was nodding and asking questions from time to time. Rhaegar smiled, suddenly reminded of the bright young queen his mother had once been before his father descended into madness, when Rhaella had presided over a magnificent court, making everyone at ease. How beloved they had been then, the young King and his Queen.

Rhaegar and Lyanna weren't. They were doing their best but they were constantly followed by whispers, hostile looks and sometimes, barely contained hatred. No one was willing to forget the price their love had taken from the realm.

"Maybe it'll be good if you go to the shelters for orphaned children," he turned to his Queen.

Lyanna looked confused. "Why?" she asked. "I am their patron and I think I'm doing my job well enough."

A singer raised his voice in yet another song for a beautiful maiden and a valiant knight. Applauses and clapping echoed all over the room. At the end of the dais, Arthur Dayne stood tall and impressive in his white cloak, his face stony but his lips twitched in the merest hint of disdain. Rhaegar sighed.

"I know, my lady," he said. "But you need to be seen doing it."

"Why?" Lyanna asked.

Rhaegar didn't answer . They had had this conversation dozens of times. She would never understand. That was what one did.

"Since we're talking about children…" she started and Rhaegar felt a burst of anger. He knew what was coming.

"No," he said flatly.

"But you don't even know what I was going to say!"

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed and smiled duly for their guests. She did the same. "You want me to let your brother's son to return to Winterfell, right?"

"Robb is barely five, a mere child, and he's been at King's Landing since he was a babe," Lyanna said. "My goodsister is desperate. Her other children don't even know their brother. Ned is…"

"Not here," he interrupted. "We'll be having this conversation in our chambers."

"No," she insisted. "This conversation? It's never a conversation. You don't listen to what I have to say."

She was right, Rhaegar guessed. But then, what did she have to tell him, really? Having Eddard Stark's heir here gave him the loyalty of the North. It wasn't as if they were abusing him. The boy lacked for nothing. He was well cared for, he was best friends with his cousin Prince Jon. He just couldn't go home, at least for another couple of years. At least.

"He's my brother's son…" Lyanna kept insisting.

_Your brother's son. Yes, your brother's son. Not _my_ son. My little boy died in the flames, his promise stolen before he even had the chance to fulfill it. If I can live with this, then why in the seven hells can't your brother live knowing that his son is alive and well, just apart from him?_

"No," he said again.

Silently, Lyanna turned her back to him. Rhaegar could already say that her door would be closed for him tonight.


	2. Out of the Great Hall

Thanks to everyone who left a review, you keep me inspired.

_The Victors_

_Out of the Great Hall  
_

"Take my daughter to her chamber," the Queen Mother said.

Lady Anellie Sevenswords rose and went to the little Princess who inched backwards. "Can I stay here, Lady Mother?" she asked sweetly.

"No," Rhaella said.

"Pretty please?" Daenerys made her eyes wide and her mouth curve in a sweet half-plea, half-kiss. She was the sweetest things ever, her eyes soft indigo in the candlelight, her hair neatly combed, her face soft and pink from the bath she had taken about an hour ago. But Rhaella was not so pliable.

"You're going to bed," she said, calmly.

"But I am not sleepy."

"I am sorry but you need to sleep." Rhaella barely looked up from her needlework.

"But you can only pity someone who sleeps their life away," Daenerys insisted, quoting Rhaella to Rhaella herself.

The Queen Dowager stared at her and then looked aside, so her daughter wouldn't see the sudden sparkle of amusement in her eyes. She wondered whether Daenerys even knew what the words meant.

The girl started picking at a silk flower on her pink dress and changed approach. "If you let me stay here, Lady Mother, I'll finish your needlework for you," she cajoled her.

Rhaella gave her a long look and Daenerys finally admitted her defeat. "Come on, Rhaenys," she told her doll. "We're leaving."

Amused, Rhaella noticed that while her daughter walked obediently along Lady Anellie, she did not hold out her hand to be held. And since she had started toddling, she had been very adamant about not being carried around when she could walk.

"She is a feisty one," someone said from a side door. Rhaegar.

The ladies around Rhaella rose and bowed. She inclined her head, indicating a curtsy. "What brings you here, Your Grace?" she asked. "If I may ask?"

Once, he had visited her almost every day; after his coronation their meetings had become less frequent, although they still made a point to see each other once a week. Viserys was the only link they had to each other's daily life and that suited both of them. So, Rhaella was surprised to see her eldest son in her chambers – they had met only five days ago when he had come to invite her in person to attend the banquet. Frankly, she was stunned that he had the audacity to visit her so soon after showing her firsthand what court he and his wolf-girl kept.

The King looked at Rhaella's attendants. "I wish to talk to my lady mother alone," he said, and with a flurry of rustling skirts and lowered backs, the women left.

Rhaella stared at Rhaegar intently. Others probably wouldn't notice but she saw the exhausted edge to his mouth, the fact that he would not meet her eyes. She sighed and rose to offer him some spiced wine.

"Thank you," he said. "But I think I'd rather have what you're having… what is it, anyway?"

"Iced raspberry juice," she said, and he nodded.

"Very well," he said.

She poured a goblet for him and returned to her seat. Rhaegar sat down, too. For a while, they sipped silently.

"Where does she have the doll from?" he finally asked, and Rhaella blinked, unsure of what he was referring to. Then, she realized that he must have heard. She wondered whether he was now feeling the same raw pain that had gripped her when Viserys had presented his sister with the doll and naming it Rhaenys when Daenerys had insisted that the doll should have a name.

"Viserys gave it to her," she said simply. There was no accusation in her voice, yet Rhaegar could feel the silent reproach. Was it hers or his? He couldn't say. There had once been time when his feelings reflected his mother's in almost all things.

Daenerys was a feisty one. He barely knew her but this much was clear. Annoying, maybe, but feisty. He could not help but ask himself what Rhaenys would have been like, had she lived to be Daenerys' age. _I am asking myself too many questions_, he scolded himself.

He looked at his mother. "I wanted to thank you for getting Lord Arryn off my back that evening," he said.

She shrugged. "It was my pleasure," she said.

To his surprise, she sounded as if she meant it.

"He's been heard speaking highly of you a few times already," Rhaegar said.

Rhaella sipped from her goblet to hide the pleasure writ on her face. It felt so nice to be an arresting woman once again, a queen making a subject feel appreciated_. I am not the Queen anymore_, she reminded herself. In fact, Westeros had no true queen, no matter that the Stark girl had been crowned.

"He's an interesting man," she said instead.

Interesting? Jon Arryn was a good Hand but he was also an old bore, always droning about how they needed to find the most honourable way of dealing with all troubles in the kingdom. Once, Rhaegar had thought it honourable to let his father free rein. _To the seven hells with honour_, he now often thought, bitterly. _It wasn't worth the price._

"I trust you noticed that we have some… misapprehensions at court," he said finally.

Rhaella raised an eyebrow. So, that was how he called it? She was still stunned by what she had seen. "I did," she said, neutrally. "Misapprehensions, indeed."

"Yes," Rhaegar confirmed. "Lyanna is doing all she can but I'm afraid she's quite young yet and she still has much to learn."

Rhaella smiled, the small curve of her lips displaying the derision she now felt. At fourteen, she had been old enough to know her duty; at nineteen, she had started building a young and magnificent court that she reigned over. At Lyanna's age, she had long established herself as a merciful and magnificent queen. Did Rhaegar truly think that he could have her convinced? At the same time, she felt sad that her son needed to lie to her, for she knew he knew the truth. They had been so close once.

"May I suggest a wet nurse, then?" she asked sarcastically.

Rhaegar glared at her. She was definitely not making it easy for him. "I'd like you to help her," he said. "Mentor her, one could say."

Rhaella could not hold the bitter laughter that now sizzled in her chest. "What can an old woman like me teach the love of your life?" she asked. "I am, after all, just wasted to a shadow of myself by decades of being all dutiful and mindful to others. I only gave and gave without taking that I no longer feel the need to take something. I am no more than a soldier marching off to the battlefield each time I organize a grand reception or deal with the ladies and courtiers. The greatest excitement of my life is adopting a new stitch in my needlework. I am a captive of the royal palaces. Is this the woman you want your breath of fresh air to take after? Aren't you afraid that I just want to destroy your happiness because I am so miserable myself?"

As much as she wanted to stop herself, the words kept pouring. Rhaegar could feel the colour rising high in his cheeks. Could he have told her all those things when he had come back from the Tower of Joy and she had confronted him about his actions? Very likely. He had been so in love. Only the Seven knew what _else_ he had told his mother, how he had insulted her _further_. _I must have been mad,_ he thought.

"Lady Mother, please," he said. "I was not myself then and I beg you for forgiveness, as unworthy as I am. But things are getting out of control. We need your help. There are some things that only the Queen can do and she doesn't know how."

Rhaella rose and started pacing, old hurts and new worries colliding in her mind. Finally, she turned to him. "Does the Queen want my help?" she asked. "Did she ask you to talk to me for her?"

Rhaegar looked uncomfortable. "Well, actually, I thought of a more discreet approach, or maybe you making the first steps to her…"

His mother spun around so fast that Rhaegar drew back in his chair. The resentment was flowing off her eyes, the purple turned to black. Her hands gripped the fabric of her gown. "Me? Going to the Queen _begging_ to teach her? I thought you knew me better than that, son. And anyway, it's hard to teach a wolf that is unwilling."

"You bear no love for Lyanna. That pains me," Rhaegar said. Rhaella did not deny it.

"I loved your first children's mother," Rhaella said cooly. " Lyanna, I am coerced into honouring because you made her Queen." _And she has little use of my love, have no fear_, she finished silently despite knowing that she wasn't being entirely right. Rhaegar was in a hell of his own making and she saw no way of helping him out of it. Even if she wanted to tutor Lyanna, the Stark girl would feel that she was doing it only out of duty and draw out of it – if she would accept being mentored in the first place. It wouldn't work. Only Rhaegar could think that his mother and his second wife could coexist close to each other for a long time.

The King did not answer. Instead, he looked around the solar as if he was seeing it for a first time. Although it looked like the typical abode of a Queen Dowager, the splendor carefully muted to reflect the grief Rhaella did not feel, it now sported a few neutral colours, some new chairs, and bunches of flowers everywhere, more candelabra brought, all shimmering and glittering. For all her grief for Rhaegar's first family, he could say that his mother had moved on.

He wished he could move on, too, yet he sometimes saw them in the most minor details – a tiny bracelet Doran Martell had sent Rhaenys ages ago, a glimpse of a fair-haired infant, a voice that sounded so much like Elia's. But he was the only one who saw and heard. No one else did.

Rhaella sighed. "She needs to want it, Rhaegar," she said softly. "It's boring, and time-consuming, and sometimes it makes one want to scream. She needs to want it if we want to achieve something. Does she?"

Rhaegar rose, ready to leave. It was better leave, instead of admitting that he hadn't spent too much time talking to Lyanna for the last six years; that the Tower of Joy had brought them closer than their marriage had; that none of them knew the other one that well.

* * *

_Two weeks later…_

"Your Grace," Jon Arryn said. "I would be honoured and pleasured to have you and your children as guests to the Eyrie. You could make the climb, if I dare say."

Lyanna almost snorted. The old man was at the dais again, having been invited by the Queen Dowager who managed to look as if she were interested in his conversation. Well, Lyanna had to admit that the snippets she had overheard did sound exciting. He was describing his adventures in the Free Cities in his youth, sometime around Aegon's Landing, most probably, and Rhaella laughed appreciatively. Couldn't he be like that with me, Lyanna wondered. Every effort she had made to accommodate the King's Hand had been met with cold courtesy. But the man was not overly conversational with other people, either. Yet now he seemed to enjoy himself in the company of this faded beauty with her pale lips.

"My lord, I thank you," Rhaella said. "I'll make the journey as soon as I get myself more comfortable shoes."

Lyanna looked aside so she would not laugh. The Hand did and said something that got caught in the blast of the trumpets.

Lyanna felt a nervous apprehension making its way through her entire body. The feuds between Dorne and Highgarden had not been smoothed, so there were men sent from both domains to negotiate conditions that would be to everyone's satisfaction. Two days ago, they had celebrated the arrival of the Reach lords; now, the Dornish ones would make their appearance, having arrived a few days ago. Lyanna had nothing to fear for but those were Elia Martell's people. Dorne had not forgotten her and in fact, blamed Rhaegar for what had happened to her. The relationship was strained – and that was putting it mildly. Lyanna had no desire to have some new people looking at her and blaming her. Sure, Elia's fate had been tragic but it was not Lyanna's fault. She had never wanted the Dornish princess to die. She had not even wanted to take Rhaegar from her. Elia would have retained her status. As it happened, Lyanna had suffered, too.

She was so consumed by her emotions and the effort to suppress them that she barely paid attention to the small group of people nearing the dais. Only when she heard the gasps, she looked around and saw stunned faces full of superstitious fear, wide eyes and pale cheeks. Rhaegar had practically turned into a statue. Everyone was looking at the woman in the yellow gown who was making her way without seeming to notice the horrified spell she had casted over the great hall.

"Princess Elia!" Lyanna heard someone saying and someone else echoed, "Mother save us, it's Princess Elia!"

Lyanna stiffened and squinted at the woman trying to see her face more clearly. All around her, the others were doing the same. Viserys who had recently returned to the capital almost rose but his mother placed her hand over his. "Elia," he murmured, fear and awe fighting for dominance in his mind.

"No," Arthur Dayne said from his place near the edge of the dais. "No, it isn't Princess Elia. It is Lady Dayne, my goodsister."

Lyanna immediately relaxed a little but the others did not. The courtiers who hadn't heard kept whispering and giving the apparition fearful looks. And when the Dornish lords and ladies came near, when Lyanna had to rise and accept the very slight bow they gave her – Lord Dayne refused to kiss the hand she was obliged to extend to him, only bowed his head over it – she noticed, with horror and fear, that Rhaegar looked unable to look away from the woman who looked just like Princess Elia, just healthier.


	3. Councils

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you keep this story going._

The Victors

_Councils_

"Who is she?"

Arthur Dayne looked at hall beneath them. Maybe he could pretend that the buzz of conversations had drowned the question? It was quite noisy. In the flickering of candelabra and rippling of skirts his eyes met the violet ones he dreaded, the eyes full of ice and indifference. Not even scorn. He looked aside – straight at the King.

Rhaegar was still looking at him expectantly. Arthur sighed. "Who?" he asked, although he knew very well.

"Lady Dayne," Rhaegar snapped, albeit, as Arthur saw with relief, he had the good sense to keep his voice low. He had even come to the edge of the dais, so that they would not be overheard. "You know what I mean."

"I know," Arthur said, not looking at the lady. The entire hall, however, still did. Almost everyone was still staring at the Dornish group who politely pretended not to notice. Arthur, however, knew better. An Elia's look-alike, a man who disturbingly resembled the deceased and not too mourned Mad King, and what was surely the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms – it was not a coincidence. Doran Martell could have sent whomever he wanted – and he had chosen them. For a moment, Arthur couldn't decide whom he wanted to look at least, Rhaegar or his fellow Dornishmen. Once again, he looked at their table. His brother was looking straight at him, as if staring through a glass, yet Arthur was not deluded for a moment. Arel knew what they were talking about.

"She's the blood of the dragon as well," he said. "She's of House Gargalen, the Lord's niece and former gooddaughter."

"Oh." Rhaegar's eyes went to the Lord of Salt Shore. Somehow, the typical Dornish looks had passed this one. He was a pure Targaryen, from the tips of his fingers to the roots of his hair, now white but with that silky softness that only silver-haired people got at aging. And he didn't even pretend not to notice that the two young men were looking at him. Indeed, he turned his head to give them a better look of his face. His lips curled in a sardonic smile. His purple eyes glinted.

"She wed his son when they were both young," Arthur went on. "Their eldest girl is to inherit Salt Shore one day. Later, she wed my brother," he concluded shortly.

_Too good a match for a Dayne_, Rhaegar thought, quite ungraciously. Indeed, he was surprised that they had not considered the lady for his own bride – she looked about his age and she shared Elia's blood. She was her _cousin_, for the Seven's sakes! They both claimed Targaryen ancestry not only though Princess Daenerys but through Daella Targaryen and her sons. And the woman in the yellow gown was clearly much healthier than Elia, making her a more sensible choice for a future queen. _Poor Elia,_ he thought, not for a first time. He had never loved her but he had pitied her, for she had been so kind and fragile. Something about the way this woman ignored the looks she still got from everyone told him that she was quite lacking in fragility.

But she still looked like Elia. She resembled her enough for him to be unable to look aside. And still, there was something wrong. A moment later, he realized what it was. The gown – it was almost the same cut and colour as the one Elia had worn at Harrenhall. She had risen from her sickbed after Rhaenys' birth only a few weeks before they had left for the tournament and that day, she had worn the yellow gown as if it were her shroud, so pale and thin she had been, drained of any colour amidst the vivid drapes. The lady in the hall – she shone like a sun, the colour yellow made her skin darker and enhanced the luster of her hair. Rhaegar looked aside, suddenly annoyed, before returning to his seat. It was not right for her to wear such a gown, not right to look so vibrant wearing it.

Next to him, Lyanna said something. He answered and by the astounded look in her eyes, he figured it wasn't a logical answer to her words at all.

Beneath them, in the hall, Lord Gargalen smiled.

One would think that their esteemed guests would rest for a while after such a long journey but no, the negotiations started the very next day. And at the end of it, Rhaegar started to lose his soft, peaceful side. In fact, he was sorely tempted to have Mace Tyrell and Mikkel Gargalen whipped like peasants! The longstanding rivalry between Dorne and the Reach had found its way to King's Landing, to Rhaegar's very own study, and he wished he could drown both lords in the Dornish Marches. Except that now, the Dornish Marches were in the grasp of the Martells and Rhaegar very much wanted to know how _that_ had happened.

Lord Gargalen was willing to explain. "It all started with an attack, Your Grace," he said. "Completely unprovoked attack against the smallfolk from a Dornish village carried out by some brigands from the Reach."

Mace Tyrell rose, indignant. "Your mountaineers refused hospitality to the King's own messengers and you dare insinuate that somehow, it's the Reach's fault?"

The old man waved a pale hand dismissively. "They didn't carry the King's sigil. Just yours, my lord. And they were brazen enough to _force_ those villagers offer them hospitality after the initial refusal, and then they were surprised by what followed? Haven't they heard of the Young Dragon? We Dornishmen do not take well being forced into anything. Now, I'll give you this, killing them was a little too much but well, you have a bunch of smallfolk there facing real knights in real armours. You can't blame them for being scared."

_Oh I could_, Rhaegar thought resentfully. _Those poor scared peasants… yet it was the armoured knights who were killed._ But at the end, the smallfolk had only defended themselves until proven otherwise – and there were no witnesses left. The House Caron had decided not to wait for the King's justice, either – it had launched an attack, along with some Houses from the Reach that had prompted the Houses Dayne, Blackmont, and Manwoody into answering in kind. The skirmishes had been going on for months.

"Still," Rhaegar said. "I cannot have my couriers murdered here and there, my lord. Surely not over such a small thing as hospitality. It is their due."

The man chuckled humourlessly. Lord Dayne shook his head, as if he couldn't believe Rhaegar. At the door, Arthur didn't move but there was something in the set of his mouth that told Rhaegar he did not agree either.

"It is not their due, Your Grace," Lord Gargalen said, with exaggerated patience. "Not in the mountains. There might be a bad winter coming. There might have been no luck hunting. There might be what not. Even if your people pay, no one can force our peasants to take the payment. Sure, gold is a nice thing to have but it would not feed their children when the passes become impassable. Besides, if I might be so bold," he added pointedly, "it was not a particularly good idea to send your couriers to Dorne accompanied by people of the Reach."

"Yes," Mace Tyrell grunted. "Your savages go feral as soon as they see someone who knows what manners look like."

"We do know what Reach manners mean, though," Arel Dayne said, scornfully. "Your people are never too mild-mannered when they trample the border to kill and steal in our lands."

All the hell broke loose. In his attempts to restore some semblance of peace in his study – how he would restore it to the actual _region_, Rhaegar could not fathom – he didn't realize that he had not found time to talk to the Dornishmen about what troubled him most, the alliances Dorne had started making with the Free Cities without leave from the Crown – until it was late in the night and everyone had left.

To his surprise, this night Lyanna was waiting for him in his chambers. She hadn't come here in quite a while. He thankfully took the wine she offered him and drank, hoping that the nagging headache would disappear. "How did it go?" she asked.

He chuckled humourlessly. "You must have heard already."

She nodded. "They say they almost came to blows in your study."

"They did," Rhaegar said. "I knew they hated the sight of each other but I had not expected _this_. I'll settle the matter, though. Somehow."

Lyanna bit her lip. "Did you talk to them about your concerns regarding Dorne?" she asked.

Suddenly, he got angry. No, he had not talked to them. It hadn't been the right moment. And what did she know about his concerns, anyway? Regarding _Dorne_, of all things? And then he felt guilty. It was so rare nowadays for them to talk without tension. Why was he ruining it?

"I will," he said.

Lyanna hovered in front of him for a while and then took a seat, wincing slightly. "Are you unwell?" he asked.

"No," she said. "It's just my moon blood," she added in an undertone and looked at him straight in the eye.

Disappontment crushed over him but it was not as powerful as he would have expected. In time, he had almost got reconciled with the idea that there would be no more children, yet he couldn't say why. They were both young and Lyanna was so healthy. He still hoped for a daughter to marry Jon to. He could already see the fight between the great Houses for the position of a queen. And the only ones with Targaryen blood were not likely to offer them a daughter of theirs as a bride.

Unless they took the daughter of a lesser House, of course. The image came unbidden – a little girl with dark hair and a bright smile like Rhaenys. He knew that Lord Dayne had a boy and a girl by his second wife, Elia's cousin. Maybe…

With a jolt, he shook these thoughts away. He knew that it could never, would never be.

Lyanna was looking at him, fierce and angry. "What happened to us, Rhaegar?" she whispered furiously. "We used to love each other so much."

_Why, life happened, Lyanna, and life continues to happen. I know you are not happy with me and I regret this – but there is nothing that I can do. I cannot reverse what happened. I cannot give your father and brother their lives back. And I cannot give you the thing you want most. The boy must stay here. That's the only way I can be sure of the North's loyalty._

She took his silence for something else and gave him a long look. "Are you going to make her your mistress?" she asked.

He blinked. "What?"

"The Dornishwoman," Lyanna said and rose, facing him. "Lady Alynna Dayne."

_Ah, so that's her name_, Rhaegar thought, shocked to realize that it had not occurred to him to ask what the lady's _name_ was. "Have you gone insane?"

She folded her arms. Her eyes glinted, grey like cold steel. "I saw how you were looking at her, Rhaegar. Everyone saw it."

The headache that had started to ebb came back in full force. He rubbed his temples. "I was just surprised, that's all. She looks so much like Elia. She's like her twin."

Lyanna shook her head. "I never saw you looking at Elia like this."

Rhaegar couldn't believe it was happening. Was he now to deal with his wife's jealousy as well? He had peace to restore and Dorne to win back – should he now busy himself with Lyanna's rage? At the same time, he knew that she had found a new subject to add in her growing list of grievances against him. And she would not let things go on like this. "Do I look like someone who has any interest in taking mistresses?" he asked and only then realized how stupid he had sounded.

Lyanna just gave him a look of pity. Enraged, he spat, "You aren't being fair, Lyanna. You were my only mistress while I was wed to Elia. I chose you, didn't I? The whole Seven Kingdoms know this."

All of a sudden, tears welled up in her eyes. It was such a rare event that Rhaegar could only look at her, stunned. "What's wrong?" he asked and rose to join her, touching one of the tears with the tip of his finger – a pearl drop, wet and real.

Lyanna looked away. "It's just… I don't think that if you could turn time back, you would have made the same choice," she whispered.

"Would you?" he asked, looking her in the eye.

Silently, she turned her face away.

* * *

_The next day…_

"Take her away," the Queen Dowager ordered.

Daenerys who was playing with a pair of kittens near the window did not seem to hear.

"Oh let her be," Rhaella's visitor said.

She shot him a fast look. "Are you sure about that?" she asked.

"Positive," he said.

For a moment, Rhaella stayed deeply in thought but then she raised a hand, sending all her attendants away. "Take a seat," she said.

Lord Gargalen did and looked at Daenerys again. "She's lovely," he said. "The spitting image of you when you were this age."

She smiled and nodded a thanks, offering him an apple from the laden table with her own hand. "There aren't any blood oranges, I'm afraid," she said.

He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow. "Why, there are, of course," he said and took one from his pocket before leaving it at the table. "In fact, I believe there are a whole crate of those making their way to your chambers right now."

Against her will, she was moved. "Ah Uncle, you haven't forgotten that I love blood oranges."

"I never forget the things that are important, Rhae," he said, smiling. "Ah that reminds me…"

"Rhae," she whispered. To her surprise, tears came to her eyes. "It's been so many years since someone last called me that."

He gave her a tender look and then reached into his pocket again and produced a small box of red leather. "From Aemon," he said. "He asked me to give it to you hand to hand and tell you that he loves you and misses you and that he longs to see you. He asked me to repeat it to you three times: that he loves you and misses you and that he longs to see you, that he loves you and misses you…"

Tears started falling faster now. Rhaella swiped at them furiously. It was stupid: she was no longer a little girl. Wife and mother, Queen and Queen Mother – she had played all the parts. Yet with her mind's eye she could still see the burning Summerhall, the screaming people rolling on the floors to extinguish the flames wrapping them, the crazed animals, her own belly shaking madly with the impeding birth of her child and preventing her from seeing on what she would step on… Her uncle Aemon had survived but she had not seen him since then – he had left the court as soon as he was deemed fit to travel. Her handmaidens had whispered that he had left covered in bandages but no one knew how bad the damage was. She had asked Elia a few times but her gooddaughter had showed little eagerness to discuss the matter. _He's well, he's healthy, he's charming_, that was all Rhaella had gotten. With time, King's Landing had just forgotten about him...

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's fine," Mikkel said – the answer she expected.

"Won't you open it, Lady Mother?"

Daenerys had come near without Rhaella noticing. Rhaella smiled and wiped her tears away, then opened the box… and looked at Lord Gargalen, quite surprised.

"His idea, not mine," he said. "It seems he and Ashara Dayne – Ashara Wil, I mean – happened to visit Starfall at the same time. Somehow, they decided it was the best present for you."

Rhaella stared at the sea-shells in front of her. When her surprise faded, she noticed that, in fact, they were quite rare and unusual. Too little of them had regular shapes – they were so different in form and colour that they might have been collected from a hundred different shores. She touched one and laughed. "Ah Aemon," she said, fondly. "He always knew how to make me smile. This is a wonderful present, Uncle. Tell him I said so. Oh!" She stared at one of the shells. "It has all the hues of the rainbow. And I could comb my hair with this one!" She pointed at a second one.

"Yes," Daenerys cried out. "Yes, Lady Mother! Comb mine! Please!"

"Come on," Lord Gargalen urged. "Do it."

Rhaella ran the seashell over her daughter's hair a few times. "Now, Rhaenys'," Daenerys insisted, and the old man startled a little but realized what she meant when she brought the doll to her mother.

"Place it next to your ear, Rhae," he advised, "and you'll hear the sound of sea."

Rhaella did so just to humour him – and then her eyes went wide. Daenerys' also did when her mother touched the shell to her ear, too.

"Now, go," Rhaella said. "Take this," she added. "And don't even think of combing the kittens' fur with it," she added as an afterthought.

Lord Gargalen laughed.

When Daenerys went back to the window, Rhaella looked up, straight into the man's eyes. "What is it that you have in mind?" she asked.

He did not pretend to not understand. They had known each other since she was born. Others might buy his inability to hold his anger towards the Reach but she was not so easy to fool. "Rhae," he said. "You are the last person I would tell this. Give me one reason why I should."

"There are family ties between us," she said. "And we need peace."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's what His Grace said, too," he said. "A few years back, he wasn't so family-oriented. He did cause a war over a petticoat and a prophecy, if my recollections are true. And forgive me, Rhae, but I have little trust in your ability to speak for him. What you think we need and what he thinks we do might turn out to be quite different things altogether."

She blinked at him. "But surely you can see…"

His voice lowered and hardened. "Seeing and believing what you see isn't the same thing. And anyway, it isn't just what I see now. I trusted you, Rhae. We all did. I know you did your best and you thought you were telling us the truth but whether you like it or not, you were asked whether you were sure. Not only by me but by Aemon and Aelinor. Ravens flew for months between Dorne and King's Landing. I asked you whether your son would go further and you repeatedly assured me that crowning the girl was a one-time folly of Rhaegar's. I asked you many times and you were always sure. I felt that something might be amissed but... I could have backed Oberyn against Doran, you know. I could have convinced Doran to keep Elia and Rhaenys with us when Rhaegar was trying to make amends and let them visit. I could have. And I didn't. Because I trusted you."

He looked away, unable to continue.

"You think it's my fault they died," Rhaella said, softly.

He still wouldn't look at her. "I… I don't want to," he said, his voice suddenly rough. "Because if it's your fault, it would be mine, too, for trusting your judgment. But they all died, Rhae – Elia, her children, Lewyn... my son, brother, and nephew. And we lost so many good Dornishmen. They died for a cause they had no faith in, for a prophecy that turned out false, for a little Northern girl. I keep telling myself that Rhaegar didn't trust you with his plans, that you were acting according to the best of your knowledge. You couldn't have done anything and I know that. Aegon and Rhaenys – they were your grandchildren. I – I know how much pain all that cost you. But…" He finally looked at her again, his purple eyes a stormy violet, full of anger and remorse. "It isn't easy, Rhae. And now, you ask me to trust you again. I can't. I… I'm sorry. I don't want it to be like this."

Rhaella looked down. She wanted to say that it was not Rhaegar's fault and it was not hers, either, that it was all Aerys' doing but she knew that wouldn't wash. Aerys had been mad but they – they were not. They should have done their best to reign him in or at least, not done so openly dangerous when he was still in power. They should have done more. She was suddenly so very tired. A deep sense of hopelessness weighed her down. She felt as if she could never rise from her chair.

Suddenly, he reached out and took her hand. "It isn't you, Rhae," he said. "You're still my beloved niece. I'll always keep you in my thoughts. But your son needs something from us – and we'll make him pay for it dearly, for he made us pay for his folly dearly."

She looked at him. "And if he isn't ready to pay your price?" she asked.

He smiled. "He will, Rhae," he assured her. "One way or another."


	4. Clashes

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The Victors

_Clashes_

Once upon a time, the Targaryens had ruled absolutely. Once upon a time, they had conquered all and kept it with their dragons. Once upon a time, no one had ever questioned that their word was the law, even if the word belonged to Maegor the Cruel or the Aegon who had become a kinslayer in the most horrific way possible, by feeding his sister to his dragon.

Once upon a time, there had been a single kingdom that they had not conquered with dragons or otherwise. And when King Daeron had signed the treaty that postulated Dorne's entering the Seven Kingdoms, he had done so with certain clauses. And those clauses were now back to make life difficult for Rhaegar.

"I demand to know why Prince Doran has signed a treaty with Volantis without leave by the Iron Throne," Rhaegar said. "Your explanations do not satisfy me, as eloquent as they are. This smells too much like an act of an independent ruler, my lord, and this, I will not tolerate."

Lord Gargalen didn't look cowered or alarmed. He simply shrugged. "It was more of a family matter, Your Grace," he replied. "Our Princess Mellario is from Norvos and her lady mother was a high lady of Volantis. I'd say keeping relations with one's wife's family warm is a matter of greatest importance. Don't you agree?"

Rhaegar felt the jab and couldn't show it. His own relations with both his wives' families were anything but warm and the kingdom was bleeding for it. Anger burned through him. How did this old man dare challenge him? Rhaegar could have him taken to the black cells in the matter of moments.

That was what his father might have done.

The thought chilled him to the bone.

"It isn't such a great matter," Lord Gargalen went on. "It doesn't go against Westerosi laws. For one, it doesn't allow the selling of slaves. It's just a small trading treaty."

_Just a small trading treaty. _Rhaegar was stricken dumb by the sheer audacity of the Dornishman. So, it was just a small trading treaty, wasn't it? Just an amendment assuring that all ships loaded with silk and spice would head for Dorne and Dorne alone, making the trade of these prized goods in the rest of the realm possible only through Dorne's intercession and with hefty profits for Doran Martell's treasury. Nothing this important at all!

"Dornish law would always reign supreme in Dorne," Lord Gargalen said lightly, almost lazily. "That was the main clause in the treaty King Daeron signed. And everyone knows that trade is the most regulated issue in Dorne. At least, everyone knew it when I lived here and my father was the Hand… of a very different King."

If the father had been anything like the son, Aegon the Unlikely must have had the patience of a septon.

"But I'll bring your disapproval to Prince Doran's attention, of course," the old man went on. "I am sure my nephew will be greatly disturbed."

_I wish_, Rhaegar thought but somehow, he doubted it.

Now, he looked at the other Dornish lords and the single woman among them, Lady Blackmont. "Lord Tyrell has repeatedly complained that you form alliances with those Essosi sellswords, letting them pass through your lands to attack and sack the Reach. What will you answer to this?"

He needed to patch things up as soon as possible. Mace Tyrell was becoming more agitated and with Balon's Greyjoy recent rebellion, he couldn't risk losing the support of the Reach. Alas, the Tyrells and the Dornishmen gave no signs of being compliant to his wishes for peace. Each of them expected the Iron Throne's absolute ruling in their favour. The situation had turned out so bad that now, he had to speak to them separately, for the sake of preventing a bloodshed.

"I will say," Lady Blackmont said, pleasantly. "That Mace Tyrell is not the King here. We do not answer to him. Are we summoned here like criminals, Your Grace? Is Lord Tyrell's word worth so much that we are already condemned?"

_That was a smart move_, Rhaegar thought, reluctantly. Of course, he could not snap at a woman as he would have done at the men assembled here. She had pretty much put him in defense and he was quite surprised, because until today, she had been content to let the men speak for her.

_Elia was full of surprises like this one._

The thought came unbidden to his mind. He had greatly enjoyed his first wife's wit and had found it quite amusing how she could sit quietly for hours and then disarm someone with a single remark they were unprepared for. Until now, he had never been to the receiving end of this. Well, he _had_ been but it had been more like a spur of the moment thing. Never something actually aimed _against_ him.

"No, my lady," he assured her. "Of course not. I am only trying to establish the truth."

"The truth is," Lord Dayne said. "The truth is, Your Grace, that letting them pass isn't the same thing as making alliances with them."

Personally, Rhaegar saw little of a difference. He gave the man a dark look. Arel Dayne took it without looking down. Rhaegar was uncomfortably reminded of the man's sister, the dark-haired Ashara with her haunting violet eyes. Lord Dayne shared this looks, too – and that daring. Rhaegar had never been captivated with Ashara's eyes as many other had but he had come to the conclusion that violet irises could tear a man apart like no other. After his return from the south, Ashara had not been reluctant to show him her disdain – not with her words but with the daggers in those memorable eyes.

"If anyone claims that they saw a single Dornishman attacking the Reach, I name them a liar," Lord Dayne said.

Rhaegar closed his eyes. So, they were trying to avoid responsibility on technicalities now? While there surely was a Dornishman or two taking part in the raids, he didn't think that there was a single one wearing the colours of one of the Houses. No, the Dornish lords and ladies acted more covertly: they let the sellsword companies cross through their lands, enter and raid the Reach and then come back, paying for the permission with part of their loot. So, it was a double win for them: they contributed to weakening the Reach and they supplemented to their treasuries.

He would not tolerate it any longer.

"May I know why you decided on giving the raiders permission to go through your lands?" he asked calmly. He was very thirsty but he could not reach for his wine – that would show his anxiety.

In the sunlight streaming through the high windows Lord Dayne looked like a knight from the old stories, not an ally of brigands as bad as the Kingswood Brotherhood.

"We could not stop them."

The lie was so monstrous and evident that Rhaegar almost choked. There were at least four main Dornish Houses whose lands were near the road the raiders used – they could have come up with a plan and drive them out in the very beginning. Instead, they had opted to share in the loot.

"You could not stop them?" he managed. "How so, my lord?"

"Our spears are less numerous than we would wish them to be," Lord Manwoody explained. Very young, as fast as the head of a snake and extremely self-confident, he alone wore the full regalia of his House. Rhaegar wondered whether he was meant to take the crowned skull as an act of defiance, or warning. He had the feeling that it was both. "Simply put, we lacked the resources to stop them."

They had had enough resources to provide strong garrison guarding the road, though. And those resources had sustained the Essosi – at some places, there had been markets organized, so the sellswords wouldn't attack the local population.

Doran Martell was playing a very dangerous game. Rhaegar could attack him, accusing him of treason – but as weak as the Dornish Houses claimed they were, Dorne still kept more than sufficient army to dissuade the King… for now.

"This might be so," Rhaegar said and gave the group a stern look from behind his table. "But I still find it incompatible with the values we treasure here. Quite dishonourable."

"Oh?" Lord Dayne looked surprised. "Your Grace, let me tell you this: my main responsibilities are toward my people and my family. If Mace Tyrell cannot protect what is his, I cannot be expected to concern myself and do his thinking. I have a wife, two children, and a young sister and their safety is paramount."

Rhaegar felt such hot anger that he was not above ordering the Kingsguard to have the man beaten black and blue. The implication in his words was clear – and one that many people shared, no doubt. Rhaegar himself was one of them. But Arel Dayne was the first one to say it to his face. No doubt he'd look heroic in the eyes of his fellow Dornishmen – and his wife who was too highborn for him.

_I wish I had had your priorities, my lord,_ _when it mattered most,_ he thought even as he was considering how best to teach them their place.

* * *

_In the evening…_

The empty chair next to Lord Gargalen kept attracting his notice – almost as much as Lady Alynna, with her lavender gown and glowing skin. Lady Alynna who did not look at the dais at all.

In the crowded hall, the chair stood out. For a while, he thought that it might have been reserved for Arthur, although the thought of his one-time best friend, his Kingsguard strenghtening his ties with Dorne troubled him. But it was not that. Albeit not on duty, at entering the hall Arthur had sat with the minor lords, clad in simple black. He did not speak to anybody. His main interest seemed to be his goblet that he had constantly refilled. He looked tired and dejected. More than once, Rhaegar caught him staring at the table where the Dornish sat. He wondered what thoughts crossed Arthur's mind. He was not sure he wanted to know.

Why was that chair empty, then? He counted the people present and realized that everyone was there. The chair was an extra one, brought separately. He asked Lyanna who looked at him blankly. "I have no idea," she said. "Why, does it matter?"

Rhaegar decided against explaining that it did matter. She was the one who was supposed to make the seating arrangements and she should have been notified that a change had been required and why. For all they knew, one of the Dornishmen might have decided to seat a whore next to him! Rhaegar looked at his mother who shrugged. Of course, it was no longer her duty to keep track of such things_. What a nest of vipers,_ he thought and wondered why on earth the old Targaryens had been so insistent on invading Dorne. Surely Dorne created more trouble than it was worth…

And then, near the end of the dinner, everything became clear. Very few people were drunk enough not to take notice when a boy was brought to the hall – a boy in the Targaryen colours, a boy with the Targaryen looks, a boy who was dressed like a prince. The empty seat next to Lord Gargalen was meant for him.

Rhaegar didn't blink and didn't ask questions, although he felt like his soul was being incinerated. _Aegon would have looked just like him if he had lived to be his age,_ he thought. While the people in the hall started whispering, he had no doubt who this was. But who had thought at all about Aegon V's youngest grandson, Prince Aemon's youngest son by his second wife, Lord Gargalen's sister?

Rhaegar knew that the boy had been born a few months after Harrenhall – and that was it. When he had contemplated the remnants of the Targaryen dynasty, he had given him some thought but only fleeting – his father was a known reclusive with no interest in court life and the boy was so very young.

Meanwhile, the boy had been growing up unobtrusively in his parents' care and Doran Martell's Water Gardens. Doran had been prudent enough not to show him off. He hadn't provoked anyone by reminding them that there were still Targaryens other than Rhaegar's family at King's Landing.

And now he was sending him – his challenge, his warning, his dare. He had always been a subtle one, Doran. A child who looked more of a Targaryen than Rhaegar's own heir, a child who bore the family _name_. For a moment, Rhaegar played with the idea of keeping him here as he had done with Robb Stark but he knew it would be no good. The child was a kin of the Martells, for Prince Doran's father had been a Gargalen. But he was not Doran's heir. And besides, with showing him off to such a numerous crowd, Lord Gargalen had effectively assured that he'd stay untouched. If Rhaegar lifted a finger against him, he'd be branded as an attacker of children and besides, there would be all kind of rumours about his _real_ motives.

And it would be no good at all – the child had an older brother safely away at Dorne.

Still, why had Doran chosen this exact moment to show the child to Rhaegar? Was that a threat? A warning? A hint that Rhaegar would better take Dorne's side against the Reach, or otherwise…? Ten years ago, Rhaegar would have laughed at the idea of Dorne threatening the Seven Kingdoms. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Doran had chosen this moment because he had decided that it was the best moment for him to show the world that there was another Targaryen prince… more than one, in fact. _Why is it the best moment for him now,_ Rhaegar wondered_. He hasn't been fiddling away his time until now, either! He created a dragon. Prince Aenar Targaryen! Healthy, comely… his eyes are sharp, for a child's… I can imagine what his uncle Lord Gargalen teaches him! He takes after him. He takes after Oberyn, too, and not Elia. The Seven help me, what am I going to do with him?_

Right now, he could not say. He could only try not to look at the boy, not to imagine how another boy might have looked like, had Aerys' madness not taken his life away before he could even start it.


	5. The Makings of a Queen

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The Victors

_The Makings of a Queen_

"What a nice day it is. And the air smells of peaches. Your Grace, have the Tyrells sent a gift of trees to your gardens?"

Lyanna looked at the silly girl and resisted her wish to go to the window and close it, eliminating the offending aroma. Really, when she had told Rhaegar that she would like a suite overlooking the gardens, she hadn't meant to have all the desserts on their dinner table laid out in front of her. She had meant a garden of flowers, although now even that did not hold the previous appeal. She had been so thrilled with gardens when she first came to south but now she found their aroma heady, obnoxious even. They held none of the fresh appeal of the flowers in the glass gardens, none of the subtle exquisiteness of life sleeping under the covering of snow. They always made her feel… sated. Just like this damned castle with its thrice cursed luxuries.

"Yes," she said. "They are from House Tyrrel. A gift for my first nameday here. They are fully blown now."

How much time had passed! It saddened her to think of it. So much time of unhappiness and guilt, and forced obligations. She resented being charming and playing the role Rhaegar seemed intent on pushing on her. She hated the meaningless gossip of the ladies she had to spend her time with. There was not a single spot on her fingers not pierced by those disgusting needles. What would come next, the demand to loom over the cooks in the kitchens to be sure that the meat was roasted just fine?

Roasted. Meat. Her hand flew to her throat as she once again wondered how her father must have felt, burned in his own armour, in the same great hall Rhaegar still held his most important receptions at. Lyanna never went there unless it was absolutely necessary and even then kept her visits as short as possible. She knew many people attributed it to lack of patience and frankly, lack of manners but she could not do anything about that. The hall suffocated her, made her want to scream with terror even six years later.

"Come on," she suddenly said. " Have my horse prepared. I am going out for a ride."

A ride might help relieve the terrible feeling of imprisonment that never left her. She truly felt that the Red Keep was a prison and her ladies were her jailors.

The women hurried to the door where they suddenly stopped and dropped into startled curtsies to the Queen Mother who had been announced all of a sudden. Lyanna hid her irritation. For six years, Rhaella had never bothered to visit her and Lyanna was just fine with the situation. Could the old woman have timed her visit worse?

"Welcome, my lady," Lyanna said, politely.

Rhaella smiled. "Thank you," she said while she looked around unobtrusively. Those were not the chambers she had inhabited as a queen – the fire had left nothing of her apartments. Did she find them lacking? And why did it even matter, for the Old Gods' sake?

"Would you leave us?" Rhaella asked, turning to the ladies. They looked for Lyanna for confirmation and after her curt nod, went out with new curtsies.

"Won't you take a seat, my lady?" Lyanna asked and Rhaella sat down, still looking around with some surprise. It was not until now that Lyanna realized: Rhaegar's mother had probably never seen a room like this one, a room decorated to protect from cold of which there was none here.

She felt as if someone had lifted a veil from her eyes: the thick carpets, the dark shutters, the heavy coverings, the bear hides on the walls. Without realizing it, she had tried to make a small Winterfell here, a home in her new home. All of a sudden, she wanted to weep.

"It's very nice here," Rhaella said and Lyanna bristled. She immediately felt her goodmother's pity. Lyanna hated being pitied.

Anyway, that didn't last long. Rhaella drew a deep breath and seemed to brace herself against something. And then she said without preamble, "It's been six years already. You need to consult the maesters."

Lyanna suddenly blushed, furiously, and looked away, terrified that she'd do something unforgivable. So that was why the old Queen had come… to meddle in the most intimate part in her life. How dared she! It wasn't as if Rhaella herself had been famously fertile. The age gap between Rhaegar and Viserys was not six years but sixteen. Sixteen! Daenerys had come some other eight years later. And Rhaella dared come here and expected of Lyanna to acknowledge her barrenness, to seek healing, to let other people, maesters, touch her body and ask her questions…

"There's no need," she said, coldly. "I bore Rhaegar a son."

"A single son," Rhaella replied. "It isn't enough for a queen."

The blush faded from Lyanna's face, replaced by cold pallor. The other woman had cut right through her heart, outlined her greatest failure as a queen. A long time ago, in the Tower of Joy, Rhaegar had told her that one of his greatest concerns had been Elia's obvious difficulties in giving him heirs. They had been so sure that it would be different for them. Lyanna knew that with Aegon and Rhaenys' deaths, the succession was a more pressing concern than ever, yet she was powerless to do something about it. She had conceived Jon so easily; why couldn't she do so again?

"May I remind you that for sixteen years, you only had a single son?" Lyanna asked sharply.

Rhaella didn't draw back. "And for the better part of those years, I've been trying my best to conceive again," she hurled back.

Lyanna blinked. "You have?"

Rhaella looked at her, surprised by her surprise. Lyanna had no way of knowing of all those babes Rhaella had lost in the first years before she even started to show but surely she should have known that no queen would give up without a fight? Even when this fight left her more discouraged, more fragile. And then, even this faint hope of carrying a babe to term had disappeared when for ten years, she had not even conceived again. It had been a real miracle, and a completely unanticipated one at that…

"_Am I going mad, Rhae?"_

_She looked up at him from across the table. They had spent the evening alone, talking about small things, Rhaegar's prowess, memories of their childhood… They had never made it to the great hall to sup with the court but they didn't mind. Instead, they had shared an apple as they had done myriad times as children. Reluctant in the beginning, she had gradually started to enjoy his visit – something that happened more and more rarely, those days._

_His eyes were wide and fearful, the purple almost swallowed by the black of the pupils. She would not lie to him but she could not say the truth either. She only nodded and he closed his eyes._

"_Gods," he murmured hoarsely._

_She rose and crossed to him. "Come on," she murmured, taking his hands. "Let's go to bed now. You haven't slept in two days."_

_He followed obediently, letting her undress him as if he were a child. She climbed up beside him and to her surprise, felt him seek the position in which they had so often lain together as children, before this cursed prophecy came between them, before they knew what was expected of them, before duty and bitter disappointment warped their love into something entirely else altogether. She took his head to her breast. "Sleep," she murmured. "Sleep, Aerys. Right now, all is fine. Sleep. I'll keep you safe."_

_His breaths grew even; she felt him wiping the tear that had somehow made its way down her face and neck. And he slept._

_Rhaella didn't know when she had gone to sleep but she woke up to the first glimmer of dawn and realized that she was now much restored. He was looking at her, resting his elbow on the bed, and she was so relieved to see that for now, he was still him._

_He raised a hand and touched her cheek softly. "I know I am not always gentle, Rhae," he said and that was the closest thing to a plea he could give her. "But I swear in our mother's name, I love you. I do."_

_She knew it to be the truth. It was not the love she had once longed for; not the love every woman wished to experience. But it was all the love her queenly rank would allow her; she opened her arms and pulled him weakly on top of her. He closed the canopy and it was suddenly night again – so different from all those countless nights when they had done their duty. Nine moons later, she had given birth to Viserys – to Aerys' great joy. And hers, as well._

Rhaella blinked and chased the memory away. Now it wasn't the moment to think of what had been and what might have been. Now, she had more pressing matters to attend to. Deep inside, she sympathized with Lyanna's aversion to her meddling. She knew firsthand how painful and humiliating it was to expose her body to other people's eyes, to have other people's hands touching and groping her. But she could not let her sympathy guide her. There was too much at the stake.

"Does Rhaegar know of your visit?" Lyanna asked sharply.

Rhaella looked at the bear hide, trying to rein her feelings in. _You poor girl_, she thought. _You had no idea what you were dragging yourself in, didn't you?_ She looked at her gooddaughter. "He asked me to teach you how to be a queen," she said. "And this is the most important aspect of it. But if you want to hear it from him, I don't mind."

Now, it was Lyanna's turn to look aside, trying to hide her mortification from Rhaegar's mother, to hide the anger that raced though her like fire. _'One day, you'll become a good little wife producing a son every year,_' Brandon had mocked her good-naturedly. _If only,_ she now thought with the familiar mix of longing and guilt she always felt when she thought about her brother. Where had she placed herself in her quest for freedom! There was no room for a free woman, for a true Northerner in this treacherous, demanding Targaryen court.

Rhaella sighed. "I am not doing this to mock you, child," she said, her voice suddenly soft. But her words caused deeper pain than even before. "I am doing it because I must. The realm is not stable and we need a smooth succession. Jon is delightful but he isn't enough. And he doesn't look like a Targaryen either. A well-aimed rumour may do us lots of harm."

Lyanna burned with rage. "As long as I know, Princess Rhaenys did not look like a Targaryen either!"

"No," Rhaella agreed. "But she had a brother who did. And she was born in attendance of the highest ranking ladies of King's Landing, not in a ruin of tower at the bottom of the realm. I am telling you that we need a spare, child. And soon. I don't trust Dorne and right now, the only thing keeping the North at our side is little Robb's presence here."

Lyanna went to the window to close it, not wanting to show the old woman how much she had hurt her. She knew it was true, the rift with her family was too wide to be mended easily. But it still pained her to hear it spelled out for her so ruthlessly.

"You… you've always sought to humiliate me," she spat. "From the very beginning. You could never forgive me for being chosen by Rhaegar. You never forgave him either."

"Does any of you deserve forgiveness?" Rhaella snapped. "And it isn't the matter now. I know you think I disapprove of you and you're quite right. But I would trade my right hand to have a second grandson by you. You saw the boy the other night. Aenar Targaryen. I've been keeping tabs on him. They've been raising a real dragon there in Dorne, albeit small. I've heard all kind of rumours about him and his parents – that he was not my uncle Aemon's son, that he was being shaped by Doran Martell, that he was being groomed to be Princess Arianne's consort. But I never heard a very specific rumour – the one that might have rung true."

Lyanna knew what her goodmother meant. She slowly turned back, pleased that now at least the room was free of the sickening aroma of peaches. "That he isn't Lady Aelinor's son," she said, softly.

Rhaella nodded. "Aelinor was slightly older than I am now when she got with child this last time," she said. "When her time came, you and Rhaegar had already disappeared. Relationships with Dorne were quite cool. Many people assumed Rhaegar would put Elia and her children aside to elevate you and the children he expected of you. The rebellion had already started when Aelinor was supposed to go into confinement."

"But she didn't?" Lyanna asked, refusing to apologize for the assumptions made without her participation.

Suddenly, Rhaella smiled – a smile of affection, irritation, and a little pride. "There she was, ready to give birth to Aegon V's last grandchild. And at such advanced age! In such a strained situation! So they made sure that everyone knew she _was_ the mother of the child, that it was not a plot to gain stability for themselves or Dorne. Traditionally, she should have been delivered in her home or the Water Gardens. But she stayed at Sunspear. And when the time came for her to give birth, she had a tent pitched at the market and made an announcement that any woman who wished might come and see her. And many went, and saw, and so all the suspicions ceased. I think there were about fifty witnesses to the boy's birth – from highborn ladies to washerwomen."

Lyanna was momentarily stunned into speechlessness. "But this… this is revolting! Absolutely revolting!"

"I doubt Aelinor enjoyed it either," Rhaella agreed. "But it worked, didn't it? The entire Seven Kingdoms talked about her temerity and lack of modesty but it worked. And her brother Mikkel was even bolder at the time." She shook her head. "His first son was born into the fourteenth years of the marriage. And they stood much to lose if the rumours gathered strength. His father was the Hand and had strong enemies, there were distant cousins trying to overtake Salt Shore from them… They stood much to lose. People claimed that the child was not Mikkel's or even that he was not born by Lady Isanne. Then, Mikkel took her in front of the Great Sept and she sat there in the open, nursing her babe at the breast for everyone to see… And all slanderers shut up."

That only disgusted Lyanna further. Was such dishonourable behavior to be emulated? That was exactly what she had been running from when she went with Rhaegar – the limitations of being a woman, being talked about and judged at every turn. But she could see where Rhaella was coming from. To Lyanna, the honourable thing was to preserve her dignity; to Rhaella and the two women of the stories, the honourable thing was to give their children the best of chances.

Deep inside, she could see Rhaella's reasoning, although her entire being fought against it. But such was the prize of love, the prize of a crown. The fact that her goodmother who usually was content to avoid her had come to discuss the matter showed her that there was no more time to lose.

Still, there was something else she needed to know. With the greatest effort, she made the final step to her humiliation. "The Dornishwoman. Lady Dayne. Is she…?"

Rhaella shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think so. At least, not yet. Rhaegar is entranced by her resemblance to Elia. But she's nothing like her. And she holds a grudge, I can see it in her eyes."

"Because of Elia? She was her cousin…"

"That, too." Rhaella started pacing around the room. "But there's more to it. I know for sure that Lady Alynna was deeply in love with her first husband, Mikkel's son. It was a love match. And she lost him in the rebellion – him, her father and brother."

Lyanna was horrified. Was she now supposed to feel sympathy for the woman Rhaegar was fascinated with? She couldn't quite bring herself to that but she had lost a father and a brother, too. And she drew back in fear because she did not know what she herself might have done to avenge them if the one she had to take revenge against had not been Rhaegar. Alynna Gargalen had no conflicted loyalties.

* * *

Alynna Dayne shivered. It was so cold and unpleasant here. Humid. She was used to the sands of Dorne and the caress of the sea breeze. How had Elia lived in such a place? Surely it had not helped her health! It had not helped her spirit, either, of that Alynna was certain.

Huge torches lit the underground chamber, illuminating the gravestones over the urns with the remains of the dead Targaryens. Alynna stared at Queen Naerys' gravestone, for she could not yet look at the grey one with Elia's name on it. The thought that they had given Elia's body to the flames disgusted her. Such a mockery! The Targaryen prince had humiliated her, abandoned her, and then he had thrown her a lavish funeral, commemorating her as his wife. Too little, too late. But Alynna had to admit that she quite enjoyed the looks he could not help but give her. His suffering was evident, as well as his Queen's displeasure and both gave Alynna joy, as if in some way it was a retribution for all those two had made them suffer. A small retribution, for certain, but a very real one. So Elia still haunted him. Good! Alynna hoped that would never stop.

Finally, she slowly made her way to the grey stone. The tears would not let her see the words written there but Alynna wouldn't want to read it anyway. Whatever praises were written there, they were not heartfelt. Elia had not been cherished, she had been pitied and judged. Alynna had seen her a few times after her wedding and had been dismayed at her condition. When she thought of her now, Elia who had loved the sun so, when she thought of her in this urn, in this condensed windowless chamber underground, she wanted to weep.

She knelt down and placed the huge bundle of sunflowers she had brought in over the urn. _Rest in peace, dear one_, she wanted to say but she knew Elia would not rest in peace. Not yet. Softly, she started calling the names in her mind: Elia. Lewyn Martell. Gawel Uller. Inar Allyrion and so many others. And her father and brother, of course. They came before everyone else. They – and Errol. _Errol, my heart, always and anywhere. _

"Nothing has been forgotten," she whispered. "Nothing has been forgiven. Dorne has not forgotten you."

Arel and her uncle would take care of the political side of things. She could take care of the more… personal. And still, and still… She was not sure how far she could go. There were certain risks she would not take even for the sake of taking revenge on Rhaegar Targaryen, damned be his name. Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon who had stolen away her joy.

_Joy of my youth_, an old poem went. The words echoed in Alynna's head. She looked at Elia's gravestone and once again wept at the thought that Errol didn't even have one, his silver head carried before the rebels' banner until it rot away, his body thrown to the wolves because _that was what would happen to anyone with a drop of dragon blood. _

_Joy of my youth – yes. But you would not begrudge me my joy now, my Errol, you know you've lost nothing in this new love that I finally found. _

She did not know how long she had been kneeling there, she lost track of time. She wept for everyone she had lost, for the love she had lost. She wept for everything that could have been; she wept for the dead and the ones who were left to mourn them. She didn't even bother to contain her voice, so everyone who passed by could be treated to the sound of her howling.

And then, a touch. A hand placed on her shoulder. She silently pressed her cheek against it. He helped her rise.

"I love you," she said simply.

"I know," he replied.

Up until now, he had never said a single accusing word to her when the entire Red Keep kept whispering about the King's interest in her. He had even evaded her guarded attempts to justify herself. But Alynna felt guilty because she knew what she would have done if she didn't have to think about him.

"Sometimes, love flies in like an autumn wind and sometimes, it just grows," she murmured, leaning against him. "Someone told me this once."

"Prince Aemon," he replied. "You've told me."

"Have I?" she wondered. "Did I?"

"You did."

She sighed and stepped aside to give him time to pay his respects. She would rather wait him in the hall but suddenly the thought of leaving him alone with all those dead Targaryens scared her.

The Northern queen might sleep peacefully. Alynna Dayne had no interest in anyone else's husband, even for revenge.


	6. In the Garden

**Thanks to all reviewers, you keep me going.**

The Victors

In the Garden

After an entire day of arguing with the Council, Jon Arryn could not wait for the hot bath that was already prepared in his chambers. He was old – too old for petty arguments and Targaryen tantrums. But then, they were not only Rhaegar's. Everyone at the Council seemed to behave like a child, stomping their feet on the floor and demanding, demanding, demanding…

He longed for the Eyrie. He longed to take in the sight of the great mountains that were his true home. That he had not seen in six years. King's Landing was too hot, too smelly, too insincere. And politics crushed him under its weight_. Maybe if it was Robert I was toiling for, it would have been easier_, a tiny voice said in his mind – a traitorous snake he was too weary to push away.

In the Tower of the Hand, a few guards from the Vale bowed and let him pass. Even inside, Jon did not let his shoulders stoop or his gait lumber as he headed for his private chambers, intending to bathe and rest before he joined the court for dinner.

But he was not to rest today. In his solar, a note awaited him, a note bearing the dragon seal. He sighed and read the few short lines. The Queen Dowager asked him to join her for a stroll in the gardens on his leisure. The letter ended with her beautifully written signature, _Queen Rhaella_.

_A real lady_, he thought. Jon Arryn admired real ladies – a quality many women lacked those days. Quite ungracefully, he thought of the Queen's signature that he had seen a few times – a real mess of titles, as if no one had bothered to explain to her that she should sign herself only _Lyanna_. Everyone _knew_ who the Queen was. _Rickard Stark lost his money on her septa_, Jon thought. But then again, who would have thought that the little wilding would become a queen? The King's mother, on the other hand, was raised in a royal court and obeyed to the notion that now, when she was no longer the Queen, she needed to add a specification to her name, for she could no longer expect that _Rhaella_ would be recognized.

On his leisure or not, he knew an order when he heard one. He entered the bathchamber and looked with regret at the steaming water. Lysa was always attentive to his comfort, he had to admit. If only she could give him a living child… It had been three months since the stillbirth. He should resume his marital visits soon.

He sent a note to the Queen Dowager that he'd meet her soon and washed his face and hands before leaving.

In the gardens, Rhaella waited for him, seated at a small stone bench. Not far away, Jon noticed Princess Daenerys and the young boy that disturbed everyone so, Prince Aenar Targaryen. There was a second girl there, too, slightly older, her hair shockingly dark against the silver of the other two. Jon looked at Rhaella, surprised, even as he bowed.

"They immediately took a liking to each other," she explained. "Daenerys told me that she's never seen anyone who looked like her before."

Jon looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She laughed lightly, the last light of the sun bathing her, making her younger, more carefree. "We don't count," she said. "Even Viserys is too old. She is fascinated to have others like her, _children_ like her."

Jon didn't know much about children. He looked aside. In the distance, the Queen appeared, followed by the Sword of the Morning. She walked slowly, as if she were in pain. Jon looked at Rhaella again.

"Tell me about the war," she said.

Here he was again. He had barely left this behind with the Council but he started talking as they slowly walked around the beds of roses and sunflowers.

"The court is overjoyed at the Battle of Seagard," Rhaella said. "Do you think the tide had turned?"

Jon shook his head. "I am not sure, Your Grace," he said. "Certainly, it is a major setback for Balon Greyjoy but it is in no way a sure sign that things are going as fine as we'd like."

Rhaella looked thoughtful. "So I thought," she said. "It's a Riverlands territory, after all. Of course the Mallisters would protect it and the Tullys would help."

Jon did not quite look at her. He knew what she was hinting at and didn't want to either confirm nor deny. Hoster Tully was father to Ned's lady, Catelyn. And lately, there had been rumours that the Starks and Tullys would not fight as fiercely as they could. Jon was always quick to remind of everyone about Ned's loyal character. Deep inside, though, he knew that there was some truth to the detractions. Through the years, he and Ned had retained their closeness but they rarely spoke of politics in their letters. Still, Jon had some idea of the power of the North – and that power was not what Ned was showing now. _The North remembers_, a boy's voice echoed in his head. He could not recall the exact circumstances Ned had said that, only that he had been very young, recently arrived at the Eyrie. Jon remembered how stricken he had been at the hard glint of the calm smoky eyes, the cold edge in the friendly voice. _The North remembers_ – and there was so much to be remembered. _Lady Lyanna should have done more to smooth the relations between her lord husband and her brother,_ Jon thought_, but then, since when is the girl capable of thinking rationally? She was the one who brought us into all this mess – and she dared address me as if she expected me to talk to her when I didn't need to._ As if a few sweet words would make amends for their deaths. His nephew, Robert – he had not forgotten them. Sister or not, Lyanna had betrayed Ned just as she had Robert. Jon had no doubt that keeping the defiantly named young Robb here was a very smart move on the King's part.

The Queen Dowager was studying him. Jon almost twitched. He was doing his best to preserve the kingdom. He was. But he would never say anything that might incriminate Ned. There was only so much he was willing to take for the unity of the realm.

Rhaella smiled – a smile of sad understanding that made him both angry and grateful. She touched his hand. Her fingers were surprisingly cool, for a dragon. "I see," she said. "I will ask no more questions, my lord. I am just asking you to not lie to us. Never."

Honour demanded of him not to lie. _As High as Honour_, their words were. But where was the honour in what the King had done? Jon had never doubted that the honourable thing had been to call his banners. Now, he didn't know. Rhaegar lacked the true support of the Starks and Tullys – the ones who were most capable of dealing with the rebellion. Jon wanted the peace to be restored. But he understood how those Houses felt. The animosity between Dorne and the Reach hadn't subsided either – and the things with the Martells seemed to be worse than Jon had expected, if their bannermen's behavior was anything to go by. The Queen Mother was right to be concerned.

Luckily, the Princess gave him a brief reprieve when she ran to them, breathless. "Look, Lady Mother," she exclaimed. "Look what I've got!"

"Daenerys," Rhaella said sternly. "You're forgetting your manners."

The child rolled her eyes but curtsied to her mother and nodded her head at the Hand. Then, she looked over her shoulder and eagerly extended her hands. The other two children approached, carrying something to give her. Rhaella gasped. "Daenerys! What… where did you take it from?"

Jon thought that "what" had been a very good start of a question. She was holding something like an egg, but so huge that she could barely hold it in her hands. It was burning black and scarlet against the dying sun, so fragile that Jon was afraid that she'd drop it and it would break.

"A dragon egg," he whispered, awed. He had heard much about those but he had never seen one.

"Aenar gave it to me," Daenerys explained as the boy bowed and the girl curtsied. Jon noticed that the girl was dressed like a lady but her skirt was quite dusty from running over. Her hair was black as a midnight sky, her eyes shone in that incredible purple that so few people had.

"Ah," Rhaella said, almost to herself. "Aerys and I, we were wondering where the eggs had gone… It never occurred to me that they might be with my uncle."

She gave the boy a long look. "Do you have one?" she asked and Jon noticed a peculiar note to her voice. "Did they place it in your cradle?"

The boy laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "In my cradle? No. They were so well hidden that I found them by chance. My father would have nothing to do with dragon eggs. I think he still doesn't know the eggs are missing. Maybe he doesn't remember how many of those there were," he added hopefully. "I only took two."

_One for him and one for the Princess_, Jon concluded.

The Queen Dowager pursed her lips into a thin line. "And you brought one to my daughter?" she asked. "That's very nice of you. Did you, by chance, bring one for the Crown Prince?"

The boy looked confused. "No, Your Grace," he said. "He is a wolf. She is the Queen of the Dragons. The egg belongs to her."

Rhaella smiled faintly. "No," she said. "She's a dragon princess."

Aenar tossed his head at one side. "She is the Queen of the Dragons," he said, emphasizing the wording. "I dreamed of it," he added, as if that settled the matter. "Look," he added to the girl. "Isn't this your lady mother?"

They all looked at their left. The Queen and Ser Arthur were still there, she walking slowly, he following, all attention. On the white marble stairs from Maegor Holdfast, two women appeared. One was holding a little boy's hand, preventing him from running downstairs, and the other was descending more closely, holding to the railing. Jon recognized her - Alynna Dayne. The purple-eyed girl stepped behind Aenar.

"She's scared that her mother would notice her and question her about the state of her attire," Rhaella explained to Jon in whisper. He noticed that she was very pale.

The first woman reached the bottom of the stairs and that was when the little boy saw his chance of escape – he whisked his hand away and ran forward. "No!" the two women called at the same time.

And then everything happened in a blur. Arthur Dayne turned sharply, Dawn already swinging down. Lyanna ran for him, crying at him to stop but she was too far away. The young woman who had been walking the boy – a girl, actually, Allyria Dayne for whom many said that she was more beautiful than even her sister – screamed and threw herself on the ground, trying to drag the child away. There was horror on Arthur's face but he could do nothing to bring back the heavy sword that was already landing down. In the last moment, he managed to swing it aside, so it only cut the emerald silk of Allyria's overskirt before sticking into the ground.

"Mother!" Allyria breathed and clutched the child to her. "Oh Ned! What would have happened!"

Looking away, Rhaella realized that Lord Arryn was no longer standing next to her. He was helping Lady Dayne who had stumbled and tumbled all the way downstairs rise. Her eyes were wide with fear, her hair falling wildly. She looked dazed but she headed for the boy, stumbling, holding onto Lord Arryn's hand.

"I… I'm sorry," Arthur Dayne whispered. "I didn't mean to…"

By now, everyone had gathered around them. Rhaella saw how pale the Kingsguard was. The thought of what might have happened had shaken her to the core, too, but she could not summon even an ounce of sympathy for him when Lady Alynna paid him no mind, leaning over to grab her child and clasp him tight. Finally, her tears flowed. Now, Rhaella saw that the boy could not be older than three, with his uncle's fair hair and violet eyes. His mother shook him fiercely and then clasped him to her again.

Allyria gasped. "Alynna," she said. "Alynna, are you… are you hurt?"

Her goodsister looked at her, incomprehending.

The girl's hand slowly rose and pointed at the red line following Alynna.

The older woman's eyes, tear-filled as they were, widened in horror. She looked down at her gown. Everyone followed.

On the front of her gown, a red stain was spreading.


	7. Between Two Worlds

**A big thank you to all reviewers, you keep me inspired.**

The Victors

_Between Two Worlds_

When he looked through the window, it was night already. His eyes, sharp and trained by the many nights at the Dornish coast and inside the boats and ships of Starfall and Salt Shore, recognized the constellations that had come to shine. Yet tonight, they all looked faint and flickering, like the fortune of the fallen stars. The night was violet like the eyes that Allyria, this sister who was a stranger to him, had lifted up at him in fear and revulsion. The flames of the torches against the new walls of the Red Keep were scarlet like the blood turning Alynna's gown red. And there was this unlucky star, this falling star that, according to the legend meant that one of the house of the falling stars had met their end. Arthur shivered and went to close the window. But he couldn't chase the sight of the blood even if he closed his eyes. The Seven knew that in the last hours he had tried – oh how he had tried!

He lay on his back in his narrow bed and threw his arm over his eyes. But the glow of Dawn was stronger. Flesh was no barrier for him. Arthur opened his eyes since it was useless to keep them shut any way. He could still see the gleaming blade going down for little Ned's – Edric, he was named – throat. He had almost killed his brother's son with their ancestral sword and in all probability, had already claimed the life of Arel and Alynna's unborn child. And why? For being ready for the kill in what had been the centre of the royal power before Rhaegar turned the entire realm against him and there was no place a Targaryen was safe anymore? For the sake of a woman who was not worthy of repairing Alynna's shoes?

No doubt the rumours of what had happened – grossly exaggerated – had flown all around King's Landing. It was quite probable that some of those had Ned killed by the Sword of the Morning, oh so tragic… When he stood on duty the next day, he would be inspected closely and whispered about but this time, he didn't care. The events that had transpired had conquered all his care, all his pride, all his thoughts. It was a good thing that Rhaegar had ordered him to take a few days of rest. Arthur was of no use to anyone right now.

The sound of the door opening made him look up. He rose abruptly, suddenly furious with whomever it was there. Even if it was the Lord Commander, Arthur would have harsh words with him. He was not on duty, right? What did they want of him? Couldn't they leave him to his regrets?

The sight of the young lion made him pause. As close as he had become to Jaime Lannister – or maybe exactly because of this, - the youngest Kingsguard would know better than intrude.

"I spoke to the Grand Maester," Jaime said, without preamble. "They managed to lessen and stop the bleeding. There is still a chance that she has not lost the child. The next few weeks will show."

Suddenly weak, Arthur slid down on the bed and held his head in his hands. "Oh Mother," he murmured. The surge of relief and hope was so overwhelming that for a moment, he could not talk or think. Then, he turned to Jaime. "So she's fine now?"

Jaime shrugged. "As fine as she can be under these circumstances. Pycelle says she's very scared."

_Of course she would be._ "How is my brother faring?" Arthur asked again, dreading the answer.

Jaime looked away. "As far as I can say, he's quite… agitated."

Arthur chuckled mirthlessly. "You should have become a diplomat, Ser Jaime. You're wasting your talents here."

"Lady Allyria is said to be very upset," Jaime went on. "But the boy is not scared at all. It seems he didn't understand the danger."

Arthur thanked the Seven for this small mercy. Then, he thanked Jaime who looked uncomfortable. He always did when he did something kind for someone. Arthur had long ago decided that he did not want to know what values the lord of the Westerlands had taught to his children.

For a moment, he stared at his one-time protégée. He was quite a reserved man, so there were many people who wondered why he had taken to Jaime Lannister from the very beginning. Rhaegar had outright asked him and Arthur had seen no reason to lie. The golden lion with the green eyes was as different from the Daynes of Starfall as he could be but since the very day of their meeting Arthur had had a soft spot for him – when Jaime had told him that he was trying to remember the circumstances of their defeating the Kingswood Brotherhood to share them with his brother. Of course, Arthur knew all about Lord Tywin's dwarf son but Jaime's care had struck a familiar chord with him. Jaime had reminded him of Arel, he demonstrated the same attachment and care for his little brother that Arel had felt for Arthur and Ashara after their father had suffered the debilitating nightmarish accident that had left his family to fend for itself. Arthur had been eleven, then.

It had been the first thing that had drawn Arthur to the young squire, although he hadn't realized it at the time. Jaime was the same type.

The young Kingsguard hesitated. "He'll forget what he said, Ser Arthur. The boy was not hurt. The lady won't lose the babe, so nothing fatal happened. People who say such things usually forget them later."

Arthur shook his head. "Not Arel. He's a great believer in the nonexisting regrets. Once a man does or says something, he'd better not regret it. And if he's going to regret it, he's better not do it. It's just the kind of man he is."

It was also the kind of man Jaime was. At least before he was raised to the Kingsguard. Aerys Targaryen had proved a great trial to his convictions.

"Go to bed, Ser Jaime," Arthur said. "You have the first watch with the King tomorrow, I believe? You need to be rested. Go to bed… not necessarily your own," he added with a weak smile.

Jaime rolled his eyes. _Dornish_, he thought. _Great knights or perfect ladies, they are Dornish first. Even Princess Elia…_ But he knew better than mentioning her name to the Sword of the Morning. There were so many things they couldn't talk about. After the rebellion, the walls that had been built through it had only risen higher.

Arthur almost didn't notice Jaime's leaving. His sworn brother was a good boy and the only one who hadn't disappointed him almost as he had disappointed himself. Arthur shuddered to think what the last six years would have been without Jaime Lannister.

But Jaime was not Arel. And he was not Lewyn either. Lewyn who was the one, the only one who understood. Lewyn who saw this accursed life of theirs for what it was. Lewyn who shared Arthur's seething resentment over Rhaegar's treatment of Elia and Dorne. With all his heart, Arthur longed for those quiet evenings he had spent with the Martell prince, Ashara, and Elia. Now more than ever he needed their presence, the silent mainstay they gave each other. But Lewyn was dead. Elia too, her body exposed for lying in-state on its side, so only the good side of her face showed. Odd but it was this final pretence that had almost made him lose it. Had Jaime not held him by the hand, whispering urgent warnings, he might have stridden over there and turned her on her back to show the world what had been done to her. What her so-called husband and Arthur himself had let happen to her. As to Ashara, in this case she would have certainly blamed him with language that would make Arel's _agitation_ pale. Of course, Arthur fully deserved it.

The night was advancing and there was no chance for him to go to sleep. With a muffled curse, he made himself ready and left the White Sword Tower.

There was no one here to see him. Ser Gerold was guarding the King. Ser Barristan was with Prince Viserys. Both the Queen and Queen Mother had declared that for tonight, they didn't need the Kingsguard, so Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor were taking their portion of rest. Ser Arys stood guard in front of the Crown Prince's door.

Arthur strode quickly and purposefully towards the part of the Red Keep that had been occupying his thoughts lately. For a moment, his eyes went up, to the windows of the chambers he knew his family occupied. There was light in only one of the rooms. A man and woman's silhouettes sometimes could be seen against the curtain. They were still watching over Lady Alynna, of course. For the next few weeks, she would be constantly checked for a new bleeding.

The two guards at the entrance crossed their spears in front of him. For a moment, Arthur thought of just pushing the weapons aside and entering anyway. But no, the men were probably aware of what had transpired in the garden. They saw him as enemy. And there might have been orders left to bar him from entering. There might be bloodshed if he tried. And he would not spill a drop of Dornish blood. That was the only low he _hadn't_ sunken to. "I need to talk to Lord Gargalen," he said instead. "Call him."

One of the men laughed. "You expect us to rouse His Lordship just because you decided you couldn't wait until dawn?"

The word was poorly chosen. In the flash of an eye, Arthur unsheathed the white greatsword and held it in two hands. "I want it to happen peacefully," he said. "But it can also go the other way, for all that I care. Call Lord Mikkel. Believe me, he isn't sleeping."

Ever since he had served at Salt Shore as a squire, Lord Gargalen had been having trouble sleeping when he was worried, so he didn't even try.

Shortly after, Arthur was shown into a room of meticulous order. Even the many papers on the desk were neatly organized. The only sign of personality here was the small portrait at the table. Arthur recognized Lady Isanne Gargalen as a younger woman. After her firstborn's death, she had left her husband to return to her family. Arthur looked at her dark hair and serene face and wondered how Salt Shore was faring now, without her. Maybe her gooddaughter had taken over.

"You've got the chamber wrong."

Lord Gargalen's voice was ice, his face tired and more creased than it had been in the morning. Arthur hadn't expected another kind of welcome.

"No, I haven't."

"The nursery is at the second floor," the old man said. "That's where Alynna and Arel's daughter's cradle is. She had seen but one nameday. Since Ned is such a formidable foe of the Queen's, then you should proceed to the next threat to her life."

For a moment, Arthur closed his eyes. He didn't need to explain that it had been an accident. Mikkel knew – and didn't care. Arthur would see no mercy from him but well, he hadn't been expected one. Dorne had forsaken him even before Elia's death – when he had been guarding the wolf girl in Dorne while good Dornishmen had been dying for her and Elia's Dornish retinue had been kept in the Red Keep to force the Dornish nobility's hand into loyalty to the Iron Throne.

Again his eyes went to the portrait. His foster father and Lady Isanne had always looked happy to him, pleased with each other. Now all Mikkel had was a portrait and a memory… and of course, the boy. Prince Aenar. Arthur felt sympathy for Rhaegar, for it was a cruel thing to torment him with the image of what Aegon might have looked like. But he could only imagine what looking at his nephew cost Lord Gargalen, for Aenar was the copy of Errol as he _had_ looked like.

Silently, Arthur took off the sword he had wielded for so long for causes that, although a Kingsguard's duty, had breached a knight's oath. The sword he had almost killed his nephew with. The sword he was no longer worthy of.

"Give it to Arel," he said, trying to sound composed. "Please."

Silently, Mikkel took the sword, looking stunned. Arthur understood the emotion, for he could hardly believe it himself. Who was he now when he was no longer the Sword of the Morning? Could one _stop_ being the Sword of the Morning? Arthur certainly hadn't felt like him in years but then, he hadn't felt like Arthur Dayne either. And yet now, it was final. There was no coming back and the thought scared him. Who would be Arthur Dayne without Dawn?

"Are you sure?" Mikkel asked in a low voice. For a first time Arthur saw in the Lord of Salt Shore's eyes something that resembled… concern. For Arthur. Strange but it almost broke him. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

Mikkel held Dawn as if he were gauging her weight. Then, he left her at the desk and looked back at Arthur. "Why don't you ask me how they are, Arthur? I think it'll make things easier on you."

Arthur bit his lip. "I am not sure I deserve an answer."

Anger flickered again in those purple eyes. For a moment, Arthur was chilled by Mikkel's resemblance to Aerys, almost expected an order to commit a twisted barbarity.

"You're quite right," Mikkel said coldly. "You don't deserve an answer." He made a few steps blindly around the room and then whirled back. "How could you!" he exploded.

"It was an accident," Arthur said, although he knew the last event was not all his foster father meant.

Lord Gargalen snorted out and took a seat. "Don't play a fool, boy. I thought I was preparing a knight and it turned out I've been making a Kingsguard." He said the last word as if it was a great offence to his honour and judgment. "Had I known how you'll turn out to be, I would have never taken you. I would have left someone else to be to blame."

"I know," Arthur said. "Please tell Arel that… I am sorry. And tell my sister I regret scaring her like this. I'll do my best to stay away," he added and turned to the door.

"You'd better." But now, there was no malice in Lord Gargalen's voice. Just all the weariness of the world. Arthur looked back.

An outstretched hand was all the invitation he needed. He crossed the room back and dropped to his knees in front of Mikkel's chair. His shoulders shook, his head fell on the old man's knees and he didn't even try to raise it. All the regrets, all the disappointments, all the things he should have and should not have done came out in silent sobs, the first ones since the very beginning of the rebellion.

The hand that had given him his first sword, the hand that had guided him with strictness and care through the perilous currents towards manhood, the hand that had knighted him, started stroking his hair silently.

Had Mikkel made any attempt to push him away, however slightly, Arthur would have been terribly embarrassed. But even when his sobs stopped and he didn't rise, his foster father kept running his hand over Arthur's hair. A strange lethargy overcame him. He no longer cared about duties, great halls, disappointment and expectations. He only wished he could stay here forever, with the man who had made him. Who accepted him still, to his great shock.

When Arthur Dayne wiped the tears he should have wiped six years ago, Mikkel sighed and helped him rise. "Did you know that when I learned you've donned the white cloak, I broke a glass goblet in anger?" he asked. His voice was now kind, thoughtful, as Arthur still heard it in his dreams.

"No, I didn't."

"I've spent a good deal of my life around the Kingsguard," Maekar Targaryen's grandson went on. "I knew what they denied themselves. It was not the fate I wanted for you. I wanted you to be happy the usual way. And when the rebellion came, you made a choice."

Arthur wanted to laugh and weep at the same time. _What choice? I have no choice, just orders. That's what I lost when I donned the white. My will is not mine anymore._

The purple eyes were still soft, warm. "You have found some sort of peace that we disturbed with our arrival, haven't you?"

Arthur supposed it was. An uneasy peace it was, a bitter peace but a peace anyway.

"And this peace will likely be disturbed again," Mikkel said regretfully. "For we are here and we're just as determined to achieve our aims as your king is to achieve his. Who do you feel closer to, my boy? Rhaegar Targaryen or us? Whose side are you at? You can stand here or there. There is no longer a middle."

There was silence.

"Can't I stand both here and there?" Arthur asked and felt the cracking of his own voice.

"No, child."

"Why should I stand there?" There was a sudden anger in Arthur's voice. "Dorne has rejected me… as I rejected Dorne."

Lord Gargalen shrugged. "_I_ rejected you and yet, you're here now."

The hope that rose in Arthur's chest was so sudden that he was stunned. Could that be? Could Dorne accept him again? Could his family? To see Starfall again, to ride in the narrow streets of Sunspear… And then reality came back. He had sworn an oath.

Mikkel saw the change in Arthur's face and his own face closed again.

"Can I come here again?" Arthur asked. "Will you admit me?"

Mikkel sighed. "I'll always admit you. And I'll let you know when it is confirmed that the babe is in no danger."

Arthur nodded and headed for the door.

"Wait," Lord Gargalen stopped him. "Don't you think you left something behind?"

For the last time, Arthur's eyes basked in the glow of Dawn. "No, I don't," he said and left.


End file.
